Kindler Of Sin: Inferno

Caibidil Eight

Clang! Ka-shing! Bonk!

These sounds were the song the blades were orchestrating. Metal meet metal and sparks flew across one another. Grinding against each other, Edwyn and Maistír looked dead in each others' eyes. The Cashelrock Shrine was being used as a training hollow. The broken-down church was once used as a house of knights, worshipping Lord Sol's prized knights and many knights had fought here, whether it was for training or competition, Edwyn's training was not the first. It will not be the last.

Edwyn was beginning to learn the might of the sword and to his own surprise, he was rather enjoying it. He had quickly understood how to riposte and parry as well as rely on his wits and strength. The first lesson he had learn was how to beat his own sword (as Maistír had told him). Maistír told Edwyn to stick out his hand with his sword and hold it as long as he could. Edwyn had noticed something different about Maistír when he was teaching; While he was the booze-loving Hallow normally, he was replaced by a different persona: a strict, strong and tad bit pushing teacher. He would make Edwyn go beyond his limits and demand to be better, something Edwyn didn't seem to understand. While he was his slave in theory, it had seemed like he had turned the tables and switched roles. He had no emotion but looked almost hardy and a bit cruel.

"Edwyn, focus!", Maistír snapped at him, while he began to stare off at the statue of Lugh.

While they either resting or taking a break from sword-fighting, Maistír was making Edwyn work on his muscles. Training was hard and gritty but it was for Edwyn's survival.

After days of training, they were ready to move on. They began the trek towards the first fire. Apparently, the only way to open the gate to Dubnos was by traveling to two special bonfires and burn an effigy. Whatever this effigy was a mystery to Edwyn but he was sure Maistír would figure it out by the time they would reach the bonfires. The first one was said to be on top of an ancient monastery, somewhere in a old graveyard called Glendalough. Unfortunately, no one has seemed to make it pass to the gravesite for unknown reason.

Perhaps one of these reasons, Edwyn assumed was that the countryside they were traveling through was nothing more than teeming with feral Hallows.

The pair had come across what seemed like a destroyed village, with ravens swarming the area. It had looked like it had been recently attacked but Maistír had told him that time worked differently than it did for Duine.

The grey, muggy sky seemed to have an everlasting effect for Edwyn's fear. This village had reminded him of his home, his own little village. The place he had called home, the fields he had tilled for potatoes, and the church he had lived in were now reminding him back. How he missed Creidimh and how he had wished she was there to see him off.

The two walked through the village, passing by what seemed like a rotting body who had been ran over. The poor fool was still alive but was completely dead. Maistír stopped in his tracks and Edwyn had bumped into him.

"Take a good long look, Edwyn. This is what we will be running into for a very long time...", said the Hallow warrior. He had an expression face but wore a smirk.

Edwyn looked at the feral. It was considered no longer a human nor a living being. Ferals were killed inhumanly, despite the objections for the church and some who were soft. Edwyn shivered at the memories of Creidimh's own mother, when she had turned. It was a boy who had killed her, a boy unbeknownst to Edwyn who cleaved her head off with a javelin and then was pulled apart, limb from limb from a bunch of other boys. Some had cheered on for this while others watched in horror. People began to throw money to see some intestines being ripped out while others begged to see bones fly. Creidimh had seen this activity and asked the church to be a druid, stating she never wanted to marry any boy in the village. Edwyn knew her innocence was lost that day when she saw how her mother was ripped apart. Every boy was a savage to her.

This feral hallow widen his eyes at Edwyn and it's tongue shivered at him. Both were fixated towards Edwyn and was trying to get to him but it's legs were crushed by a cart.

"Sad, isn't it? Could've been anyone. Probaly was a father to children, husband to a long, forgotten wife. Doesn't matter now. It's just rotting meat. A worthless scrap of life. All living things are. Best you get used to this Edwyn. Kill it, kid. Make it clean or messy, it's up to you. Make it out squeal or kill it quietly, I would like to hear."

Edwyn approached the creature with his sword out. This was a moment. All his life he had seen his peers rip apart deer and choke the life out of weak baby, doomed to die. He should've been one of those infants but he had bested death. This was considering a rite of passage to boys. Boys growing into men. Sex didn't make the boy into a man. Blood did.

He was no doubt nervous and scared. He never grew up killing a living being. Throughout his life he had been in a pasture, growing crops and doing off jobs for his small village. He was a small, thin and frail farm boy. Not some beefy kid who loved to plays with swords. He was about to become a man. And he was scared.

This creature was once a man. A man who could've done anything. He could've been a man of sin or a man who had the perfect life. A man who was now gone. And he was going to murder him.

This was not a murder, right? This was mercy, the benevolence of the gods were going to judge him now. Was it rightful? Should a quiet, clean kill do the trick?

"Edwyn... Kill it... Before I'll kill you."

Maistír had awaken his senses and bought him back from his empty thoughts. It was time. He wrapped his hands around his blade and approached it. Fear had been put aside now. He was ready.

With one fast plunge, the feral was put down. Just a small squeal. Maistír grinned. Blood was now encoated upon his blade. He was now a man.

But he did not felt like one. Instead he still felt like a child. His hands were shaking. Blood was on them. Tears were spilled.

"This is the life we live in, Edwyn. Every kill we make from here on out means nothing but survival. Death is inevitable. We're merely worthless pawns to the cycle of life and death. Get used to it."

The pair then walked out of the village, leaving behind bodies left to wrot.